


Entrail Soup

by Midge03



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Jeongin top, M/M, Necrophilia, Obsessive Behaviour, Rape, Slums, Smut, Voyeurism, hyunjin top, set in Victorian ages I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26118514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midge03/pseuds/Midge03
Summary: Jeongin is obsessive, and all the people in his town think he’s crazy. To be honest, Jeongin knows he’s crazy, but when he meets someone even crazier, it does things to him.OR: What goes down when a dead body gets fucked.
Relationships: Bang Chan & Hwang Hyunjin, Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Hwang Hyunjin/Yang Jeongin | I.N
Comments: 12
Kudos: 80





	Entrail Soup

**Author's Note:**

> Had this around for ages and finally finished it, congrats me. 
> 
> Not rly it’s a mess but please enjoy.

Jeongin threw himself onto the cold wet ground, heaving a sigh and staring down at the dry bread in his hand. He hadn’t eaten in hours and all he got was a lump of stale, mouldy wheat, equivalent to that of a boiled sponge. The rich were supposed to be great at wasting food, why was this the only thing he could find in their bins?

“Yes Chan, I know it isn’t much, you don’t have to look at me like that,” he said gruffly, turning to look at the boy slumped haphazardly next to him against the cobbled wall. “It was a bloody bad day and that’s not on me, so just eat it.” Leaning over, Jeongin took Chan’s hand and uncurled his fingers, lodging a chunk of the bread in it. He then placed Chan’s hand down on his lap carefully before bringing his own bread to his mouth.

When it was just an inch away, he looked down at it, groaning, but he still took a bite. It was impossible to chew. With a frustrated cry, Jeongin flung it onto the road, where an oncoming carriage ran over it. He was so hungry but the bread was just too gross. “Fucking rich people, can’t even throw away nice stuff for us.”

Bringing his fingers to his head, Jeongin started pressing into his temples, trying to ease the oncoming hunger headache away. He was cold and miserable and he felt like there was a symposium of nothingness filling his insides. On top of that, everyone here knew him so there was no chance of him getting any spare cash. Maybe he should relocate, the people who passed this road were the same old and the rich passing people had cars, but he shoved the thought down, knowing it wasn’t possible. This was the only place he got semi shelter and didn’t get slaughtered for being the devil’s advocate.

“Jeongin darling, come inside would you?” came a sudden voice. Jeongin turned his head, spotting the landlady of the slum he used to live in with a hand on her dipped hip and another up to keep the drizzle off her hair. She was holding a thick coat and was on her tiptoes to avoid any puddles, her frail ankles not letting her stand that way for long. Jeongin just rolled his eyes, turning to face the road again.

“Oh come on, you know I won’t come in without Chan.”

“Please Jeongin,” she asked again, taking a step closer. Jeongin eyed her. Despite the cold and her less than helpful sheet of a night suit, she wasn’t shivering. Everyone here so cruelly used to the winter pains.

“No, if you and the other thirty people living in that room don’t want Chan in there, then you can’t have me either.”

“But really Jeongin, this is madness. Two years you’ve been hanging onto that body like maniac, just let it go,” she pleaded.

“What did you just say?” asked Jeongin, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m saying just let go of the body.”

“Don’t you dare call him a body,” he said, glaring at the woman. “Chan is not a body.”

“I’m afraid to say dear, but he is.”

“No he’s not.”

“God Jeongin please-“

“Shut up.” The lady took a deep sigh, walking over to Jeongin and placing the coat gingerly on his lap.

“Then stay warm at least,” she said before turning around the corner and entering the door to the large room stuffed brim full with mattresses and wet people. Jeongin looked down, picking up the coat. It was made of a rough felt and even if he didn’t want to admit it, it was really going to be warm.

Lifting it up by it’s collar, Jeongin shook the coat of any dust and took one of Chan’s arms, threading it through an armhole. “I’m so sorry she called you a body,” he said sadly as he dressed the dead boy, “She just doesn’t understand, even though she means well. Everyone here does, I’m lucky they don’t kick me out of the town or set the dogs on me. I think deep down they know you’re special Chan, I’m mean you’ve been with me like this for two years, how can you not be.”

Two years- two years and the body hadn’t decayed. Some people liked to call it magic. Others liked to call it black magic. The slightly more upper class fellows who’d pass Jeongin on their way to work would look down from the tips of their noses and call it chemicals. The odd clergy would call it the devil and the butchers would call it the cold. Jeongin himself didn’t know what to call it, but despite that, he was sure that if anyone took Chan away from him, he’d start to deteriorate. He’d not let Chan out of his sight even once since he’d died, and he never planned on it. Not from the moment he’d stolen the body from the gravekeepers to the moment Chan’s family moved away to the countryside. He was never leaving Chan- he’d been his only friend. Dead or alive.

After about another half an hour of fruitless waiting and half hearted guilt tripping of any passers by, Jeongin packed himself up, hoisting Chan onto his back. His body was like rubber, as always, but today he was wet too. Jeongin shivered under the weight as he turned the corner, approaching the doorstep of the slum but not crossing in. He put Chan down carefully amongst the wet shoes and ripped hats littering the floor, laying his head down on the doormat by way of a pillow. Then, grabbing a shoe, he lay his own head down too, facing up into the thin sheet of tarp which provided a run down failure of a roofing over his head.

He prayed the rain would stop.

•••

“Hang on, be careful. Yeah just put it there- no don’t wake him up you blasted idiot. He’ll probably just kill you and carry your dead body around too.”

“He’s the one that killed Chan?”

“Yes you idiot, do you live under a rock? Just leave that and put the letter down... Oh Lord he’s moving, run run run.”

Jeongin slowly opened his eyes, groaning as footsteps reverberated beside his head, squeaking and then disappearing with a flurry of bated breath and panic. He felt a light pressure on his face; a piece of paper balanced precariously on his cheek, and he groaned, slapping a hand up and taking it off. It was probably those mail kids and their stupid fancies and rude mouths having fun playing with adrenaline. Jeongin couldn’t be less bothered.

He opened his eyes wider, the weak morning sunlight disorienting his senses as he peeled himself off the concrete in a hitherto of fraying bones. He sat up, wearily scanning the area. The slum doors were open and there was no one inside save a wailing baby and what looked like a disgruntled older sister, everyone else having gone off to work. From behind him he could hear the noise of the day and the yells of vendors; the smell of the gutters making itself obvious as a wind blew. Jeongin shivered, pulling his shirt closer to his body and turning his attention to the letter in his grip.

“To Chan,” it read, in practiced cursive. To Chan? Why was there a letter addressed to Chan. Chan wasn’t exactly capable of replying, and if it were from his family it’d have been a hate mail addressed to Jeongin himself.

“Why is someone writing to you of all people?” grumbled Jeongin, looking over at the boy still lying next to him in the exact same position as the night before. Everyone in the city knew of Chan’s... disability. So what was this?

Not waiting a second more, Jeongin lifted the seal, the grit under his nails catching. Once open, he drew out the paper inside, unfolding it. His eyes flitted down immediately, checking from whom the letter was. “Miss you lots. Sincerely, Hwang Hyunjin.”

“Hwang Hyunjin Miss You Lots huh?” said Jeongin, looking at Chan again. “You never told me you had a friend called Hyunjin...” He trailed off, eyebrows furrowing as he turned to the letter and read it through properly. There wasn’t much in it, just this random boy talking about how much he missed Chan and some of their old memories and how he’d love to rekindle their friendship. What stuck out to Jeongin was the line at the end, inviting Chan to Hyunjin’s place for a day so they’d could catch up.

Jeongin sat back, thinking for a moment. “What you say Chan?” he said, turning to the boy. “You wanna go? Maybe we can force him to let us stay a few days. He says tonight, you wanna go? Yeah? Okay we’ll go.” And that was that.

•••

A few hours later, around sundown, Jeongin hauled Chan onto his back like usual and started for Hyunjin’s place. It was located in the middle class part of town, about ten minutes from here, and Jeongin arrived quickly enough. He hauled Chan up a violent set of stairs, and looked at the numbers on the peeling doors in the passageway carefully as he walked. He found the room- 66- and rapped on its door with his red knuckles. Standing back, he adjusted his grip on Chan and waited.

A minute later the door flung open to reveal a beaming young man with long blonde hair and sparkly eyes. He wore a button down and comfy pants, and while he didn’t look expensive, he looked comfortable. He was gorgeous, and his slender eyes and porcelain skin drew Jeongin to him immediately. The man was also looking at Jeongin, but his expression fell instead as he saw who it wasn’t.

“Oh hello, who are you? I was expecting someone and I thought it was them,” he said sheepishly, putting a hand on the back of his neck. “But not that it’s distressing to see you, no not at all, it’s just that I don’t actually know who you are. Maybe I should look forward to you coming. Or maybe I shouldn’t. What do you say?”

Jeongin said he spoke too much, and he moved too enthusiastically for just answering the door, the eccentric jewellery one would find on a gypsy tinkling on his wrist and ankles every time he motioned. But he wouldn’t say that aloud. Instead, he introduced himself. “I actually am the person you were expecting... somewhat.”

“Oh, no you’re not. You’re not Chan, good try.” Jeongin furrowed his eyebrows. This kid was weird. Pretty but weird.

“No I know I’m not Chan, but I’ve brought Chan,” he said, indicating to the man on his back. Hyunjin couldn’t see properly so he just pulled a confused face. Jeongin sighed. “Let me in and I’ll tell you,” he said. Hyunjin stepped to the side, opening the door wider and letting Jeongin in.

As Jeongin entered, he noticed that the room was barely furnished, with only a dirty carpet and a sofa to decorate. The tall walls were painted with a cheap enamel cream and there was a window with long curtains in the middle. To the side there was another room which Jeongin assumed to be Hyunjin’s bedroom.

“Who’s that on your back?” said Hyunjin as he followed Jeongin into the lounge. The guest didn’t reply, instead setting Chan down on the sofa and letting the pallor of his face do the talking. 

“Wait, is that Channie?” said Hyunjin, looking up at Jeongin with wide eyes. “Well he could have just come when he was awake, no need to make you carry him all the way.” Jeongin looked up at Hyunjin incredulously.

“Hyunjin- Chan’s dead. Can’t you tell?” he said. Hyunjin’s mouth fell open at the words and he rushed forward, taking Chan’s cold hand in his. 

“Oh my Lord, you’re right,” he exclaimed, putting a hand on Chan’s grey face and peering in. “Dear me dear me, that’s rather disturbing,” he said, sounding very much like a teacher who had no choice but to sympathise with a scratch their student had received. “How long has it been?” he asked.

“Two years,” said the boy skeptically. He knew he was disturbed himself but Hyunjin was really creeping him out. He was so ridiculously okay with a stranger carrying his friend’s body around. Jeongin decided he didn’t like Hyunjin. 

“Two years?” cried Hyunjin, before proceeding to burst into tears, almost as an after thought. Like he remembered that he had to show some emotion. Jeongin observed him carefully. Such a muted reaction had turned into a fit within two seconds- ridiculous. He stood there, watching Hyunjin wring his hands and grip Chan’s clothes. He must be a performer. 

But performers stop when their show is over and not before, so Jeongin left Hyunjin be and moved to a corner of the room to sit down. The carpet was comfy and he certainly wouldn’t mind sleeping on it for a bit. 

“Mind if we stay here a few nights,” he asked Hyunjin. The boy looked over to him incredulously, but he stopped crying, hiccuping a little and taking a minute to think about it before speaking.

“Sure, sure. Stay as long as you want,” he said, voice thick. Jeongin sat back with a smile and watched as Hyunjin contemplated crying further.

Ultimately he decided against it, and proceeded to rise. “I suppose if you’re staying then we might as well have dinner now?” he said.

“Dinner sounds great,” said Jeongin, and his stomach growled at the thought.

And so ten minutes later, Hyunjin was sitting opposite him on the carpet and the two of them were silently eating porridge. There was a bowl in Chan’s lap, which Hyunjin had given without Jeongin even having to ask. 

But that just made Jeongin suspicious. Hyunjin had seemed dramatic and freaky yet harmless at first, but now he was becoming scary. The way he spoke was scary too. He would flit between enthusiastic chirping and monotonous silence and he seemed obsessed with certain chain around his neck. Most people would have thrown Jeongin to the streets at this point but Hyunjin seemed to be almost the same as Jeongin himself. 

Jeongin didn’t like that. He knew how Hyunjin thought because he thought the same way, and he didn’t want anyone like that around Chan. He might have asked to stay earlier but as the evening drew on, Jeongin only became more and more wary, and by the time he fell asleep, the only thing he was thinking was that they needed to leave first thing tomorrow morning.

•••

When Jeongin woke up he’d thought it’d have been to the morning sun peeking in through the window, but it wasn’t. It was to these sounds. These awful, wet, squelching, moaning sounds coming from Hyunjin’s bedroom.

He sat up straight in a panic, and looked at the sofa for Chan. He was gone. 

Rising hastily, Jeongin made his way over to the doorway of Hyunjin’s bedroom, and there he was met with the most disturbing yet magnetic sight he’d ever seen in his life. 

Hyunjin was naked, his slender body bathed in candlelight, and under him was Chan, also naked, with his face in a pillow. His hips were up and between them, inside him, was Hyunjin, moving back and forth at an animalistic pace and letting out moans and whimpers. Jeongin was horrified. 

His Chan, his precious Chan, was being used and hurt and printed by another person. Another person. Chan was his, not Hyunjin’s. Chan was his only. Hyunjin would hurt him. 

The rage built up in Jeongin in just seconds, and he had a right mind to kill Hyunjin there and then, when the latter let out a sound, a warm melting sound, and his movement in Chan became erratic. It jolted Jeongin out of his trance and he realised that he couldn’t kill Hyunjin. He couldn’t, because he was terrified of him. Hyunjin would probably kill him first if he tried.

And so he stood, watching as Hyunjin gripped Chan’s cold grey skin and let out more and more sounds. It took a few moments for them to register as sounds of pleasure, but once they had, Jeongin realised he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. His heart was thrumming with a feeling he didn’t know, and his hands were tensing as he felt a strange sensation run though his body. It flowed and built at his crotch region.

With a quiet gasp, Jeongin covered his mouth and ran back to his spot on the floor, realising what had happened. Guilt filled him as he cried himself to sleep; the thought of Hyunjin and Chan and the horror of what he had felt filling his mind senseless.  


•••

When he woke up, he almost didn’t remember what had happened. It took a few seconds for the memories to come flowing back, and once they all had, Jeongin rose and quietly moved to Hyunjin’s room.

Hyunjin was gone, but Chan was still there, naked and covered in a white fluid. Jeongin rushed to him immediately reaching out to check for any injuries.

There were none, and he let out a sigh of relief. He was just about to re clothe the boy and leave when he looked down and saw Chan’s lower region. He looked at the place Hyunjin had used. It was red and raw and shiny, and it made Jeongin recall the sounds of pleasure and joy Hyunjin had been making when using it.

Those thoughts alone sent that wave of feeling through Jeongin again, accompanied with a wave of shame. He pushed it down and reached out for Chan’s shirt. He slipped the boys arm through the armhole and turned him over to do the other one when he was met with the sight of small indentations on Chan’s backside. His backside was spread and hole was there, glistening still. Jeongin felt himself stir.

After all, he had taken care of Chan for two years had he not. He deserved some pay back and this was the best Chan could give him. Right?

Right?

Yeah.

Gripping Chan’s waist, he pulled the boy’s body towards him, removing his own trousers and undergarments. His penis was half hard and he tugged on it a little to fill it out. His mind was clouded with nothing but lust and satanic urgings as he pushed himself in, a cold feeling enveloping him. Jeongin let out a sigh, shuddering as he started to move. He recalled Hyunjin’s actions from the night before and tried his best to mimic them.

It felt good. Magical even. Magical to the point where when Jeongin felt a knot of pleasure build in only moments and he let himself create those same sounds Hyunjin had. And as the knot burst and he fell down to the bed tired, he let the ecstasy and pleasure wash over him unashamedly. And as he dozed off, he let himself forget what he’d done to Chan and thought only of Hyunjin and how glad he was to have met him.

•••

When Jeongin woke up he was met with a sight he never wanted to see. There was no Chan, only a pile of dust.

And from there on, Jeongin stopped being known as the boy who carried a dead boy around, but as the boy who carried a sack. A sack full of something no one knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: [BinnieBixch](https://mobile.twitter.com/BinnieBixch)  
> CuriousCat: [BinnieBixch](https://curiouscat.me/BinnieBixch)


End file.
